Something In-between
by CheckYourVitals
Summary: Harry dies in the battle of Hogwarts and finds himself in 1944, as a ghost. Only problem is… he's invisible to everyone but Tom bloody Riddle. Unable to communicate with any other living soul and drowning in solitude and despair will Harry take the only hand he is able to hold? Will he want to? Eventual Dark!Harry
1. When Home Becomes A Prison

**Somewhere In-between**

 **Summary:**

Harry dies in the battle of Hogwarts and finds himself in 1944, as a ghost. Only problem is… he's invisible to everyone but Tom frickin' Riddle. Unable to communicate with any other living soul and drowning in solitude and despair will Harry take the only hand he is able to hold? Will he want to?

 **A/N:** So this idea has been running around in my head for a while, and yes I _know_ I've not finished ' _What do we fight for'_ but I honestly can't face writing that right now, I've wrote myself into too many plot holes and writers block. So here's to hoping this gives me back my inspiration… maybe. Either way I think I will be focusing on this and I'm sorry to those who want me to continue with my other story.

But for now, I hope you enjoy the start to my new fic…

Also this **will be a dark fic.** I simply can't write anything else. But it will be slow, Harry's not going to suddenly be casting the killing curse about and kicking puppies. I will be trying to make it as realistic as possible.

 **Disclaimer:** I'd like to know who thinks it's remotely feasible that I own Harry Potter? Because, truly, I'm flattered.

 **Chapter 1:** _When home becomes a prison_

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

Harry barely managed to dodge the blinding green light as it rushed towards him- jumping out of the way just in time for the spell to practically brush against his skin, the air crackling with the pure magic and intent of the spell.

How could one spell be so powerful as to stop a life completely with no clear sign of how it managed such a feat? It was truly both amazing and terrifying.

Adrenaline pounded through his veins as he leapt over crumbled bits of rubble of the once majestic castle. How had they come to this? Wizards often claimed to be better than muggles but looking around, taking in the devastation and pure _horror_ of the war they were trying to end Harry could see no difference. They were no _better._ They were all just _human._

And what was it all for? Just one crazed man blinded by power, obsessed for immortality and unable to look past his own desires.

Harry _hated_ him.

So he would fight for their freedom or he would die trying. There was no other option in his mind.

He couldn't believe it. Didn't _want_ to believe it. Because accepting the fact that he had a piece of Voldemort's soul harboured inside him was admitting to the fact that Dumbledore had _lied_ to him for all these years. That he had been _used._ And that was hard to accept.

It also meant that he needed to die. That when it came down to it, his main purpose in this war was to give his life. And while Harry was _willing_ to die for everyone that didn't mean he _wanted_ to. Didn't mean he could forgive the fact that he had never been told, never been prepared.

Everyone could feel it in the atmosphere- the anticipation was slowly rising, building up as the climax of the battle came to an end. Soon it would be over and a winner would be decided; the fate of the world would be determined. It was unclear which side would be triumphant: the battle was so closely matched even if it was in different ways. Harry found himself tense with the prospect of what was to come. There was a feeling in his gut he couldn't shake away- the feeling that something awful was about to come and he would be helpless to prevent it.

As it turned out: he never even had chance to dodge.

Someone screamed his name. Ron? Hermione? He would never know who.

Turning in the direction of the cry he was just in time to see a brilliant green light and feel the pure panic of realising something was horribly wrong before a stray killing curse hit him. His mind never even registered the fact that he was going to die and if there was one thing that would annoy him the most… it was that he never did see who it was that ended his life.

 _Darkness. Pain._

 _He couldn't focus, couldn't_ ** _think._** _All there was was pain._

 _And that was all he was aware of. Consuming his every thought, every fibre of his body and mind._

 _An excruciating amount of pain and not just in one place. His whole body felt like it was being burned and pierced with needles and knives, blunt and sharp simultaneously, never ceasing, never dimming, if anything only increasing with time and he couldn't help it: he screamed._

 _At least, he tried to scream but no sound escaped, nothing could be heard and all he saw was a blank, everlasting darkness stretching out ahead of him. And he was_ ** _terrified_** _. Because nothing could have prepared him for this, nothing._

 _His thoughts were in a scramble, messed up. Who was he? Where was he from? What was he doing here? Was he even a he? Did he even exist?_

 _Doubts plagued his mind. Maybe this was how it had always been? Maybe this was all there ever would be. But he just wanted it to_ ** _stop_** _._

Harry opened his eyes.

The first thing he noticed was that everything felt different. If you asked him how Harry wasn't sure he would be able to explain just _what_ was different. Just that it was.

He was standing in a stone corridor that looked eerily similar to Hogwarts and if the school wasn't currently bone and dust Harry might've thought he _was_ in the magic school. As it was the wizard strained his mind- searching for the faintest whisper in his memories that might give him an idea of just _where_ he was.

The last thing he could remember was someone shouting his name in panic and then… then a flash of green, an excoriating pain, a stretch of nothingness. And then Harry realised.

He had been hit with the killing curse. Again.

Alarm and confusion rushed through him. Was he dead? Had his mind merely conjured up this last mental image of Hogwarts before he moved on to… wherever it was you went when you died.

Harry forced himself to calm down, to slow his breathing. _Maybe he wasn't dead._

Coming to the conclusion that he wasn't going to get anywhere by standing still, Harry started to walk down the corridor. He instantly felt like something was wrong. If he had to describe it he might say that it felt like he was in a lucid dream, except everything felt a bit _too_ real. But just not real enough.

Suddenly the young wizard heard the shrill chatter of voices, increasing in volume as time passed before he could hear the soft clatter of feet to go with them.

Freezing in the corridor Harry gazed both curiously and cautiously as two teenage girls rounded the corner- approaching the spot where he stood rooted to the ground.

Eyes briefly scanning them Harry could only feel baffled when he saw the Hufflepuff crest upon their robes. Robes that looked in perfect condition. Not torn, not bloodied, not covered in dirt or bits of rubble. A stark contrast to Harry's own clothes.

Was he dreaming? Was he dead? And if either of them were true then why have two random girls that he didn't know be there to greet him. Although as it turned out, 'greet' was exactly the opposite to what they did. Rather, they just ignored him, walked right past him as though he wasn't standing there covered in grime and blood and looking painstakingly out of place.

Feeling completely out of his comfort area Harry did the only thing he could think of in the current situation.

"Excuse me?"

Neither girl even paused, though Harry was sure he had said it loud enough for them to hear.

"Hello!" He said once more, this time even louder but yet again there was no response. Frustrated, Harry started walking after them briskly, reaching out a hand to tap one of them on the shoulder.

His hand never made solid contact however. Instead, it seemed to go _through_ the witches shoulder as if it was merely air. Harry stopped, blinking a few times and staring at his hand as though it was somehow at fault.

Panic soon settled in however. _What the hell had just happened? What was going on?_ His breathing started to quicken before he could help himself. He didn't, _couldn't_ understand what was happening. He had been in the middle of a war. So where was he now? Hogwarts? It certainly seemed like that was the case, but at the same time the rational part of his mind refused to believe that he was somehow standing in a castle that should be debris and ashes.

Therefore the only logical explanation that Harry could come up with was what he dearly didn't want to believe was true. Yet it all added up. The green light, the darkness, Hogwarts, being incorporeal…

He was dead.

Upon that realisation Harry felt a great despair come over him. For all intent and purposes, he had failed. Despite knowing he had been willing to die, that he _had_ to die and was willing to sacrifice himself, Harry hated not knowing what the outcome of the war was. He hated the fact that he had left Ron and Hermione. Hated the fact that he hadn't been _strong_ enough to survive. That he hadn't been good enough.

He accepted however that he _had_ to die and just because it wasn't Voldemort that had cast the spell… didn't mean that it didn't count.

And with the despair also came a calmness. Because for him it was over. And he could safely say that he had _tried._ That he had fought for what was _right_ and been that person willing to step up and fight for what he believed in. That the soul shard inside of him had been destroyed and Voldemort could now be defeated.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder _what if._ What if he had made different choices? What if he had worked just a little bit harder? What if he could've survived the killing curse a second time? Would he have married Ginny? Would they have had children together? What job would he have gone into? And maybe that was where he felt the most sorrow and pain. Because of a life he might've, _could've_ had but now never would.

A sob racked through his body before he could stop it and his frame shook almost silently. After a few minutes where he simply let himself wallow in his own self pity, Harry shook himself out of it. So he was dead, he was just going to have to accept that. But what now? What was supposed to happen?

Harry half expected the Grim Reaper to suddenly appear and take his soul or whatever it was they did. He didn't know, couldn't find it within himself to _care._ Rarely had Harry considered the possibility of an afterlife. Oh sure, he had never dismissed the thought- after all, if magic was real and souls existed then who was to say that there wasn't some form of life after death for those who didn't become ghosts?

Ghosts. Harry paused in his thinking. _Could_ he be a ghost? But that wouldn't explain where he was. Nor why people couldn't see him. After all, ghosts had always been visible to them in the past.

And so here he was, standing perfectly still in an empty corridor with absolutely no clue about what the future held.

So Harry decided to explore.

The more he walked the more convinced he became that this was Hogwarts. Or, at least, some sort of representation of the castle. Because this just couldn't be the place he knew. That school had been practically destroyed: reduced to little more than ruin.

So why did everything here look so completely _normal._

Eventually Harry came to a more populated part of the school and he stopped in the middle of the hallway as students crowded about. No one looked at him. No one stepped around him. For all they knew he didn't even exist and yet all Harry could do was stare at them.

They all acted so… _ordinary._ So completely oblivious as they chatted about trivial thoughts and meaningless subjects. It was so utterly normal and yet it all felt _wrong._

This was not the life he had left behind. That life had been filled with despair, sadness and yet certain, random moments of happiness or even hope had existed. Moments you had to treasure because you never knew when the next one would come… if there would be another. You held on to those feelings, the brief passages of time that gave even the slightest slither of hope that maybe things could work out, maybe life _wasn't_ so bad after all.

But the people around him… they were simply taking their normal, everyday life for granted- which was something he had _never_ been able to do.

Minutes passed by where Harry simply stood there, lost in his thoughts before he was suddenly jolted out of them by a familiar if muffled voice. One he hadn't heard in over a year.

The hallway had cleared but Harry found himself slowly approaching one of the closed doors, anticipation growing and spreading throughout his veins.

So faint he couldn't make out what was being said but Harry would recognise that tone of voice anywhere, no matter how distant it sounded. And it was coming from behind that door.

He had to be sure, he just had to _see._

His hand reach out slowly towards the wooden door, stretching out to touch but never making contact. Fingers slid through as if there was no barrier there, as if nothing was blocking him and so he allowed the rest of his body to follow, gliding through as if he had always been able to. On the other side what he saw only confirmed the glinting hope and yet the undeniable fear that had entered his mind the second Dumbledore's voice had reached his ears.

Because there the old man was and yet, this Dumbledore was not so old, not so grey and his eyes slid over Harry as if he couldn't see him. Because he _couldn't_ Harry realised. Not even Dumbledore could see past whatever illusion was on him.

And suddenly Harry was even less sure of what was happening, even more confused and he felt so utterly lost in a world that he realised was not his own. Harry took a step back, and then another almost tripping over his own feet as he hurried to get out, get away because _nothing_ _made sense._ His body fell through the solid door and Harry whipped his head around, emerald eyes wide and wild, darting all over the place as though he might somehow find an answer in the cracks on the ceiling or the paintings on the walls.

Taking a deep breath Harry closed his eyes, welcoming the darkness that came with the action because it allowed him to pretend, just for a moment, that the world around him wasn't there. It was though, and he couldn't hide for long. Slowly, he opened his eyes once more and stood staring, thinking. Because what was he supposed to do now? He couldn't exactly ask for advice because no one was able to listen.

Before he had fully realised that he had come up with a decision, Harry found himself in front of the main doors leading out, staring uncertainly at them.

Closing the distance Harry allowed himself to simply walk through the door, something he felt he would never get used to, before appearing on the other side. There was a pressure in his head that hadn't been there before and the further he walked from the castle, the more potent it got. He had walked no more than 5 steps before the pressure burst into pain, agony shooting through his senses causing him to collapse onto the floor, head clutched in his hands.

No matter how determined he felt, no matter how much he _wanted_ to take that extra step, Harry realised he simply _couldn't._ Something was holding him here, something that he couldn't fight. And with a sickening sense of dread Harry was forced to face the fact that he was _trapped._

Hogwarts, the place that had always been his home, was now his prison.


	2. Kick Me When I'm Down

**Something In-between**

 **A/N:** Soo I'm trying to get back into writing again and this was the first story that appealed to me. If it comes off a little stiff or unnatural then I'm sorry, I'm a little rusty but that's exactly why I needed to pick up my writing once more before I stop completely… which I don't want. So I really hope those that read this chapter like it, please let me know what you think - thank you.

 **Disclaimer:** It's a tragedy but Harry Potter still does not belong to me.

 **Chapter 2:** _Kick me when I'm down_

* * *

After realising that no matter how much he might want to, he couldn't leave the castle, Harry had began to simply… wander.

His feet made no sound as they faintly touched the stone ground and after some concentration, he realised that his feet were actually _making contact_ with the floor. It shouldn't have been that uplifting really, but at this particular moment it was the best news he'd had all day. Because if he could technically make contact with the ground then surely he would be able to do the same with _other_ solid objects.

He hadn't realised just how _alone_ and _useless_ he'd feel for Merlin's sake. Would this be his fate? Forever left to wander the halls of Hogwarts, listening and watching but never interacting, never changing.

That thought alone was too daunting to dwell on, so Harry forcefully pushed the implications of his situation aside. He couldn't think about the future, about the fact that this might be all it ever would be - so instead he tried to think of cheerful things. Of joyous memories. But even with them came a sense of loss and bitterness. Because they were _gone_ now, and they were never coming back.

Hermione, Ron, Ginny… would he ever see them again?

If he had somehow gone back in time which his surroundings seemed to suggest then yes, he would. But that thought didn't bring any semblance of comfort, rather it just brought dread. Because he'd have to go the long road. And even then, would he be destined to watch from the shadows as they grew up together? Knowing the future but not being able to _do_ anything about it.

Was he utterly helpless?

Harry found himself at Dumbledore's room once more, his classroom which was strange in itself because Harry only knew him as the _headmaster,_ not a teacher. He wasn't sure why he had ended up back here, perhaps just for the comfort of his old mentor even if the man gave it unwittingly.

There were no lessons going on at the current moment in time and Harry drifted into the back room: Dumbledore's office.

The, not so old but certainly not young, man was sitting at his desk, eyes peering from behind half-moon spectacles down at a book, a peaceful expression on his face.

There was no acknowledgement at Harry's presence, no matter how much he had been expecting one. Dumbledore didn't look up or change his posture, he didn't do _anything_ … he just continued reading. Looking at his old mentor like this _hurt._ Harry hadn't expected it to, truly, but it _did._ There was something painful about seeing the man he'd always looked up to, seen as a grandfather of sorts, alive and well yet not _seeing_ Harry.

He longed for the wise wizard's advice, needed to hear that everything was okay and would work out in the end. It didn't matter that he'd known Harry was a horcrux from the beginning, didn't matter that he'd been setting him up to die… because Harry _missed_ him. And all he wanted was for the wise man to look up, to _see_ him or show some sign that he could tell something wasn't quite right, that he wasn't alone.

As the minutes ticked by however Harry was forced to accept the fact that Dumbledore, for all his wisdom and power, just didn't know Harry was there.

He didn't think he'd ever felt so lost in his life.

* * *

Spirits crushed Harry found himself in the Great Hall, eyes watching all the other students enviously. Only a couple hours had passed and yet he was sure he'd never felt quite so alone _._ How long was he supposed to stay like this? Forever?

That thought made him feel sick. No… he'd do _anything_ to not have to live through this torture forever. But for now… for now Harry was suddenly determined to _not_ wallow in his self pity, to make the most of being incorporeal because the only other option was to fall into a pit of darkness he wasn't sure he'd be able to climb out of.

And for a second the old Harry, the _real_ Harry slipped through, a mischievous glint lighting up his eyes.

Harry wandered over to the Gryffindor table, eying the students of his house curiously as they chatted and laughed and just _lived._ He missed that, he really did but staring at the students that had lived years before him felt more like a dream than reality. He didn't know these people, they were all strangers, all present in a world he'd never known and never been a part of. It was… surreal.

"…what do you think?"

"I think you'd have a higher chance with the giant squid mate. She's way out of your league…"

"…the professor gave me a detention on Saturday, can you believe it? I mean that pretentious little snob was _asking_ to get his face rearranged…"

"…I heard Janice and Gregory broke up, how awful… do you think he likes dark chocolate?"

Harry couldn't help but smile faintly as his ears caught wisps and threads of conversations long gone. That was until he heard the end to one particular exchange which caused his smile to drop faster than Ron's grades each year.

"… I can't help it, there's just something about Tom Riddle that's… hot." Giggles followed this sentence and Harry jerked his head in the direction of the two teenage girls who were sneaking subtle glances over towards the Slytherin table.

Dread coiling in the pit of his stomach Harry slowly swiveled his head to follow their gaze. They couldn't be on about _him._ Surely not, surely he hadn't traded one Dark Lord for another.

His fears were confirmed however when his gaze landed on the young, frustratingly handsome Tom Marvolo Riddle who seemed to be currently enraptured in a conversation with a fellow Slytherin and looking for all the world _normal._

Several emotions rushed through Harry at that moment, so many powerful feelings that threatened to consume him. Despair, hatred, fury… they devoured him whole and burst out of him in one violent explosion and all the hovering candles seemed to flicker ominously in response.

There was a brief lull in conversation and Harry watched as Riddle's eyes darted fleetingly upwards before returning to the conversation and suddenly Harry deflated, exhausted.

 _Had that been him?_ He felt like he should be thrilled but if that's all he could do with _that_ level of emotion then what did that mean for him?

The temporary feeling of determination flooded out of him all at once, it seemed that no matter where he went, no matter what he did he was destined to always encounter the Dark Lord…

…and not even in death could he escape him.

The shrill sound of a bell interrupted Harry's train of thought and all the students started to get to their feet, grabbing their belongings before strolling leisurely out of the Great Hall. Harry almost followed out of habit before realising his mistake and feeling a fresh wave of despair hit him.

Still, he decided while he was here he might as well sit in on some lessons, it's not like he had better places to be and he _had_ missed a year of his education whilst on the run. Harry blinked, was it strange that he even missed that period of his life now? At least then he'd had his friends, he'd had an _objective,_ a purpose rather than just floating along aimlessly like a leaf in the wind.

Transfiguration was where he ended up, if just for a familiar face that _wasn't_ a certain malevolent teenage boy. In a way it was nice, or at least that's what he forced himself to think. No one was staring at him, no eyes followed 'the boy who lived' filled with whatever emotion they decided was best fitted for him that day.

That part was a relief… if only it wasn't drastically outweighed by the extreme loneliness and misery he now felt.

Harry stood in the centre of the classroom, staring ahead as Dumbledore went through his lesson. It was odd seeing him like this but Harry decided it suited him, he was a _good_ teacher but of course, he already knew that. Eventually everyone got their wands out and Harry was struck with a realisation.

Not once had he bothered to check if he still had his wand, hadn't even _thought_ about it because, well it was broken and he'd been holding Draco's wand when he was hit. But still - a dangerous hope started to flare up in him and before he could let it get any more potent Harry patted down his robes and nothing, _nothing_ could describe the feeling he felt when he felt the mokeskin pouch still in his pocket.

Laughing lightly Harry brought his prized possession up to his eye level, almost lovingly scrutinising the holly wand that was currently in two pieces. He didn't know why seeing it brought with it a feeling of hope and tranquility, especially when he wasn't sure it could be fixed. Maybe because it was his one remaining link to his life, and he'd developed an attachment to it like most witches and wizards did. It was _his,_ it belonged to him and had gotten him out of many scrapes and there's no doubt he'd have been long dead without it.

Still, it was useless as it was and Harry dejectedly put it away. Instead he paid attention to the 7th year class as they recited spells he had never quite managed to grasp from his time at Hogwarts.

Sending the students a brief glance Harry paused upon spotting a familiar face and simply stared for a moment. Dark, disheveled hair, hazel eyes… he was almost a spitting image of Harry's father and Harry had to face the fact he was likely staring at a member of the Potter family. He was staring at _family…_ Just not a family he'd ever known.

"Fleamont you're doing it all wrong, see the wrist movement should be like this…"

Fleamont rolled his eyes at the girl next to him and Harry was struck with pain and nostalgia when she reminded him so much of Hermione.

"Yes ma'am." He muttered causing her to scowl at him. Despite this Fleamont changed his wrist movement and the girl smirked when he managed to successfully cast the spell. He raised an eyebrow, glancing between his wand and her, "Well what y'know, you actually know what you're talking about Euphemia."

Euphemia scoffed but there was a playful glint in her eye, "Well maybe that's why you're only just scraping a pass while I happen to be top of our class."

He winked at her, "A pass is all I need darling."

Harry smiled slightly, staring at them with disbelief. Fleamont and Euphemia Potter… he was looking at his grandparents. He felt like laughing, he _could've_ laughed because it's not like anyone would hear him but instead Harry left the classroom before any new emotions could engulf him.

Standing alone in the halls of Hogwarts Harry closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment to just breathe. This wasn't the end, he tried to convince himself. This was just another adventure, another challenge that he would overcome because he _had_ to. Because he was Harry Potter and nothing was ever easy for him.

Letting out a sigh Harry slowly opened his eyes, considerably calmer now. _Think about the here and now._ He told himself. _Not about what might come._

If he wanted any chance at figuring out what had happened to him and undoing it, he was going to have to pull a Hermione. He couldn't safely say that he'd ever really enjoyed reading, even magical books. He learnt by _doing_ and had relied on Hermione for research.

But now Hermione wasn't here and he was going to _have_ to start researching if he stood any hope of getting out of here. And so he made his way to the library, not entirely sure what he was looking for but searching all the same.

Minutes turned to hours as Harry combed through the book shelves, observing the spines carefully and precisely as time no longer held meaning. Time travel, death, souls… those were the topics he looked for but he supposed it didn't really come as a surprise when he came up empty.

Eyes flashing to the restricted section Harry could come to no other conclusion. He'd have to check everywhere. And for the first time he was grateful for his invisibility as it meant he had no need to be cautious, no need to keep checking over his shoulder and flinching at every sound. No one was going to catch him.

The books in this section were notably darker, older and more… malicious looking if you could describe tomes as such. But that was exactly what he needed.

Finally a book caught Harry's eye; a rather unremarkable looking book when put next to the others but one whose title promised to be informative… he hoped.

Of course, now that he'd found something, he was faced with another, more immediate problem: he couldn't touch it.

It was an issue he'd been putting to the back of his mind whilst he searched, perhaps subconsciously hoping it would be miraculously solved by the time he found what he was looking for.

But he could _touch_ the floor… or at least he wasn't falling through it so what was to say he wouldn't be able to pick up a small object.

Reaching out Harry hesitated, his fingers mere centimetres from the spine, so close they were almost touching but not quite, not yet. Ever so slowly, as though afraid to go any faster, Harry closed the distance, allowing the tips of his fingers to gently ghost the ridge and he could _feel_ a sort of pressure.

That was it, that was _something._ But when he finally went to close his fingers around the spine they merely went straight through. Frustrated Harry grit his teeth and tried again - he _would_ succeed, he had to.

But again and again he failed to make contact. Again and again the book remained so close yet just out of reach. After about the tenth try Harry let out a cry of resentment. Resentment of his situation, resentment of _himself_ for being too weak willed, for being foolish enough to land himself in this position in the first place.

But what could he do except keep trying?

Steeling himself Harry lifted his arm out once more, because he had no other choice, because he refused to accept the possibility of never changing, of never _doing_ anything.

But before his hand could even come close Harry was frozen to the spot by the sound of a voice coming from behind him, by the sound of _his_ voice as it reached his ears in all it's arrogance and his arm dropped limp to his side as he spun around, book forgotten.

He'd hoped he'd been wrong, he'd hoped he'd be able to avoid him but he should have known better, should've remembered fate had a habit of kicking him whilst he was down.

Green eyes met midnight blue, light vs dark. But what shook Harry the most was that those eyes were staring _at_ him. Not through him as he'd expected, those eyes _saw_ him and after an entire day of being unseen and _hating_ it… Harry suddenly wished for nothing more than to have that back.

But why, out of everyone, did it have to be Tom Riddle who could see him?


	3. The Worst Kind of Luck

**Something In-between**

 **A/N:** Thanks so much for all the reviews and favs/follows from the last chapter. It's uplifting and encouraging to see. Hopefully the rust is wearing off but I hope you enjoy this chapter, feedback is always appreciated - thank you :)

 **Chapter 3:** _The Worst Kind of Luck_

For a moment there was silence and it takes Harry's brain a second longer than he would have liked to catch up. Riddle's eyes travel down his figure, no doubt taking in his war torn appearance half hidden in the darkness before arriving back at his wide, almost panicked eyes.

A perfect eyebrow is raised and Harry suddenly remembered that Riddle is waiting for an answer… but for the life of him he can't remember the question.

"…What?" His eloquent response comes out of his mouth before he can really think. Then he realises that he's shaking, though whether out of fear, anger, or a combination of the two he can't tell.

"I asked you what exactly do you think you're doing?" Riddle's eyes burn into his, a tiny smirk curling at the corner of his lips and Harry realises he's _enjoying_ this. Enjoying making him squirm and like someone flicked a switch Harry straightens up and looks straight into the eyes of the devil, unwavering.

"Just browsing." Harry tries an unconcerned shrug, trying to appear unaffected, that just seeing Riddle's face doesn't send a jolt of adrenaline up his spine.

Tom glances around, an almost bored expression on his face that Harry can't help but think is feigned, "In the restricted section dressed as-" Riddle pauses and gives Harry a purposely slow once over, "-as a muggle." His tone was calm, cordial, as though he were talking to a friend he'd known for years rather than a stranger caught like a deer in headlights.

Harry blinks and alternatively takes in Riddle's appearance now that they're face to face. It's almost… odd, he decides, seeing the future Dark Lord like this and not the grotesque creature he becomes. He'd forgotten, Harry realises, forgotten how put together, how flawless the teenager was from his second year. Something that feels like a lifetime ago.

But he can see now things that either weren't present in the diary Tom, or perhaps that his 12 year old eyes weren't able to notice. One thing he'd never garnered was just how intense those dark eyes were; how they looked as though they were peering right into his soul and devouring every secret he'd ever owned.

Having taken in the perfectly combed hair, the pristine robes and unblemished skin Harry offers an innocent smile, "Right." He agrees, because what else can he say? That he's come from a war where the two of them are arch enemies, a war he has no clue if they won or lost. "What are _you_ doing here?"

He tries turning the question on Riddle, because surely he has no more reason to be in here than Harry does. But of course the teenager has an excuse on the tip of his tongue, though maybe it wasn't an excuse, maybe it was the truth, "Performing my rounds as Head Boy," Riddle drawls, taking a step closer and observing the way Harry tenses up, as though preparing to attack or flee. "I heard a yell and naturally, performed my duty."

His voice is smooth, almost pleasant were it not for the dark undertone Harry could detect. Suddenly Riddle pauses, his head cocking slightly to the side as he gets a closer look at Harry in the dim lighting, "Are you a student here?"

Harry knows what he's thinking, it's one thing to be seen in his muggle clothing, another when they notice how dirty and torn they are. His mind works furiously, trying to think of something, _anything_ to say in response…

…but then he stops. Because surely it's still just Riddle that can see him, surely there's nothing he can actually _do._

And as his mind takes in the situation with a new perspective Harry knows now what he's going to do. Adopting as wistful an expression as he dares without looking _too_ upset, too fake, Harry gives Riddle a small, sad smile - every instinct in him screaming to attack, to _fight -_ but even he knows that now is not the time, "I was."

It's not even a lie, he _was._ Just in his past, not Riddle's.

Eyes seem to refocus, a curious gleam entering them as the young Dark Lord takes another step forward, another step closer. "Was?" He asks, and Harry's almost certain he's managed to confuse him.

In response Harry merely smirks, he can't help it, but there's something satisfying about knowing something Riddle doesn't, being the one causing all the questions whilst holding the answers. Because he's so used to not _knowing,_ to having information kept from him that it feels _good_ to have the positions reversed.

As an answer Harry simply takes a step back, away from Riddle and _through_ the bookcase, disappearing from view but not before catching the look of surprise that flickers across his rival's features. He does, however, fail to see the interest in Riddle's eyes as he remains perfectly still, gazing thoughtfully at the spot Harry vanished from for a moment too long.

* * *

Escaping the library the small amount of adrenaline Harry felt dies down and he finds himself missing the slight rush it gave him. Because at least he felt something, other than all the negative emotions he'd been swarmed with this past day.

He expected to feel exhausted, after all that had happened… but he felt as awake as if he'd just woken up refreshed after a good nights sleep. Maybe it was this ghost thing, maybe he didn't _need_ to sleep.

Not sure how to feel about that Harry decided to try and seek out the ghosts of Hogwarts. Maybe they would be able to see him, provide some answers… maybe not. Harry didn't know, he didn't _understand._ Was his fate that tied to Riddle that he just couldn't escape him? Ever?

But at the same time maybe there was a small part of him that held hope, hope that someone else would be able to look at him instead of through him. Would be able to hear and speak to him. Maybe it was foolish but right now, after failing to pick up a single, _stupid_ book… hope was all he could hold on to.

He spent hours, _hours_ searching for a ghost, _any_ ghost but it was like they were hiding from him. Everywhere he went was just desolate and silent, not even the portraits on the walls seemed to realise he was there, invading the hallways as those that were awake seemed content to continue their private conversations. Back in his time their eyes would always follow his every step but now… now he could hear what they said when they thought no one was listening.

After a while it became almost a game to Harry, eavesdropping easily on conversations not meant for his ears, trying to find the most outlandish or embarrassing tale. It was somewhat amusing, and Harry realised that people say the most interesting things when they think no one can hear them.

And he could listen in on _anyone_ if he wanted to except… except for Riddle. Harry paused, suddenly frustrated. That could have been actually _helpful,_ spying on the Dark Lord to be. But now it seemed even trying would be useless. It was pathetic, his situation was pathetic. How was he supposed to _help?_ How was he supposed to help stop Voldemort… and did it even matter anymore?

But maybe… maybe he could do something, what he didn't know but maybe he could figure out a way to prevent Tom Riddle from ever rising to power, from ever murdering and causing the deaths of thousands of innocent people. After all, if he could see Riddle could he _kill_ him?

Harry winced, he wanted to, oh he wanted to _so badly._ But would it be right, could he justify it? Riddle was still just a teenage boy… a psychopathic teenage boy with a tendency for murder at that - but still a teenager no older than Harry himself.

But as he thought about it Harry realised he _could_ justify it. Tom Riddle didn't deserve the life he'd been given, not when he so easily took the life of others and if Harry could _save_ them, save his parents…

Hands curling into fists Harry glared at the nearest wall. Because what would happen then? What were the rules of time travel?

 _'Awful things happen to wizards who've meddled with time.'_

Hermione's words came back to haunt him. But what terrible things? He had so many questions and Harry knew he couldn't do anything drastic yet, not until he knew more. He didn't like it, he wanted to do something _now…_ but he understood.

It suddenly bothered him that he knew so very little. Never before had he questioned himself when he failed to do homework, or when he relied on someone else, namely Hermione, for information he lacked. It wasn't that he hated reading… it was just that he'd always rather have been doing something else.

But now that his access to information had all at once been taken from him, it abruptly clicked how much he didn't know.

There was nothing for it. He'd have to go back to the library, and he'd have to try again - _keep_ trying until he succeeded and Harry knew he would. Simply because he had to.

* * *

Time had passed oddly, Harry thought as he wandered down the hallways and realised that all the students seemed to be up and about, despite it being a Saturday. The sun was halfway across the sky yet it felt as though only a few hours had passed, not the 8 or 10 the sun seemed to suggest.

A girl with dark hair and glasses suddenly crossed in front of his view, for no more than a second and yet Harry blinked, a thought striking him. What year was it? Was moaning Myrtle a ghost yet or was she still alive? Riddle had said he was Head boy which meant he was in his final year which would suggest he'd already opened the Chamber of Secrets.

Moaning Myrtle just _had_ to be in the girls bathroom on the first floor. She was almost always there, at least in Harry's time. Most importantly she should be a ghost and Harry had to see, he had to _know._

Not yet having figured out how to go through the floor or ceilings, and Harry felt sure he _should_ be able to, he made his way to the first floor of the castle by walking.

"Myrtle!?" Harry yelled upon entering his destination, not bothering to be quiet about it. Then he waited, eyes scanning the room in desperate anticipation until…

A pale greyish, partially translucent figure emerged from one of the stalls and Harry held his breathe. Had she heard him? More importantly could she see him?

"Myrtle?" He tried again, softer now. He began to hope that she would turn to him, look at him, began to _expect_ it. But as she finally turned in his general direction, Harry all at once knew that she couldn't see him, nor hear a single word he said.

His hope turned to ash, utterly crushed under the confirmation that he was truly alone… no, that he was alone with Riddle. It also just didn't make sense, nothing that was happening made _any_ sense. Just then he felt the urge to cry, to let out his frustration, his anger and his grief in a torrent of tears. It was too much, it was all too much.

Yanking his head away from the dead girl that he found himself resenting for no clear reason, it wasn't _her_ fault she couldn't see him, Harry's eyes fell upon the taps. More specifically, the opening to the Chamber of Secrets.

Suddenly curious and desperate to see if he could do _something,_ Harry walked absently over to the faucets, staring at the snake engravings with narrowed eyes. It was almost a distant memory, what had happened here no more than 5 years ago. He'd slain a basilisk when he was 12 years old. Thinking back Harry had no clue if it had been merely dumb luck that he'd survived _and_ saved Ginny's life. Hell, his whole life seemed to revolve around luck.

But it was the worst kind of luck. He was Harry Potter after all.

Eyes still acutely focused upon the etching Harry felt the word escaping from his mouth before he could talk himself out of it, " _Open."_ He hissed, the translation coming naturally to his lips.

There was a brief second of apprehension where nothing happened, and then the sink began to lower. Eyes widening Harry looked on in wonder - he'd done it, he'd interacted with the outside world and a smile worked it's way unbidden onto his face.

A second later however it vanished when he heard a squeal behind him. Whipping around he realised he'd stupidly forgotten about the resident ghost who was frantically moving her eyes around the area, as though expecting someone or something to pop out at any moment.

"Wh-Who's there!?" Myrtle drifted closer, eyes wide in panic but also a dangerous glint of curiosity and Harry hurriedly turned back to the gaping hole that was now in the floor.

" _Close."_ He hissed hastily, letting out a small sigh of relief when the entrance sealed back up. That had been… reckless he supposed. People couldn't find out about the chamber opening yet, not if he wanted to keep history the same. Which he would admit wasn't his greatest desire but currently it was necessary. Besides it was his discovery in 1993 that allowed the diary horcrux to be destroyed.

Glancing back at Myrtle who had quickly retreated with a squeak Harry supposed he was lucky that no one would likely hear about the incident. Students tended to avoid the bathroom thanks to her after all and even if she _did_ happen to mention something to someone, it was doubtful they'd believe her.

There was that luck again… getting him out of messes he'd created in the first place.

* * *

Nothing. There was nothing.

Not even a spark as the two pieces connected.

Sighing Harry dropped his wand to the ground and rested his chin in his hands, elbows on his thighs. He was currently sitting in the side of a corridor crosslegged, fruitlessly attempting to rejoin the 2 separate pieces of his wand despite knowing it was useless; how much had he tried this very 'technique' back in his time?

But it was for lack of better things do. Maybe if he actually had a wand he could interact more with the real world as he'd never been good at wandless magic. Though he supposed now was as good a time as ever to practice.

Staring wistfully at his broken wand Harry was brought out of his musing by the sound of footsteps and he halfheartedly raised his head, expecting whoever it was to simply walk on by.

Only they didn't.

Green eyes slowly drifted upwards, taking in the polished shoes that had stopped before him, reaching the green and black tie and the Slytherin crest before landing on the dark eyes that were trained sharply on him.

 _Coincidence._ Harry told himself, ignoring the part of his mind that whispered otherwise.

"We meet again it seems." Riddle said after a moment of silence Harry didn't feel inclined to break, instead tearing his gaze away from the teenager before him and turning it back on his wand. He just wanted the other wizard to go away, to leave him alone like everyone else.

Maybe if he ignored him for long enough he would get bored and leave, Harry tried to convince himself only to be snapped out of his pondering by a pale hand reaching down and snatching up the two pieces of his wand.

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed, completely forgetting his previous decision as he got to his feet and glared at Riddle - who was examining his wand with sharp eyes and merely raised an eyebrow at Harry's displeasure.

"What happened?"

Harry's face went blank. "Wh-?"

"To your wand." Riddle finished, nonchalantly handing the two pieces back and interlocking his fingers behind his back.

Cautiously taking the offered pieces Harry carefully placed them back in his pouch and shrugged, "It broke." If he was honest his mind wasn't fully focused on the conversation. He was too busy pondering on the fact that he'd _touched_ Riddle's hand. They'd made contact, no matter how brief.

What _was_ he?

It seemed Riddle was having that exact same thought as he narrowed his eyes and caught Harry's own green orbs, ensnaring him as though he was nothing more than the prey in this situation, "Are you a ghost?" He titled his head thoughtfully to the side and offered Harry what he assumed was supposed to look like a sincere and sympathetic smile.

All Harry could see however was Voldemort's pale, distorted face, baring his teeth in a manic grin as he tormented him. Needless to say, he didn't fall for it for a second.

Seemingly noticing this very fact Riddle's brow creased slightly, though he kept the genial smile plastered on his face.

"I suppose." Harry answered vaguely, he'd never been the best at lying and he doubted it would be easy to lie to Riddle, even if he was accomplished at it.

Riddle's grin widened, almost predatory now as he took a step closer to Harry's stiff form, making him wonder if he'd walked into a trap, "But if you were a ghost," Riddle started, his voice smooth and cordial, "I wouldn't be able to do this." Without warning he quickly reached out a hand and grasped Harry's wrist between his unrelenting, long fingers, holding it up in the air between them.

For a tense moment the two wizards stared intently at each other, Riddle's brow raised as if to say 'well?'.

Then Harry yanked his arm away, tearing from Riddle's grip as though it burnt as he glowered at the other boy. "Yeah well, I don't claim to know how magic works." He spat, willing himself not to do something stupid… like attempting to strangle him.

Riddle merely gave another smile that was somehow warm and chilling at the same time, "So I can tell. I don't suppose you know much of anything at all." He said pleasantly, enough so it took Harry a moment to realise he'd been insulted.

Giving him a dirty look Harry crossed his arms over his chest, "And I suppose you know everything then?"

"Oh I wouldn't make that claim." Riddle replied calmly, "Not yet."

Rolling his eyes Harry decided it was high time he take control of the situation and turned to leave, he'd only managed a few steps however before he was stopped by Riddle's voice calling out, "How did you die?"

Pausing in his escape - not that he was retreating, of course not - Harry half turned over his shoulder to glance back at the other boy, whose eyes now held a dark curiosity. Leave it to Riddle to have some kind of twisted fascination with another person's death.

Keeping his face carefully blank Harry looked coldly into those dark, misleading eyes, "I was murdered." He said simply.

Then he turned away and for the second time today left Riddle with more questions than answers.


	4. One Step at a Time

**Something In-between**

 **A/N:** Another inconsistent update! Honestly I'm slightly amazed I managed to get this done due to my laptop appearing to completely die on me... The panic that followed when I thought I'd lost _everything_ but luckily it seems to be working again. Suddenly performing backups seems to be a load more desirable. But anyway, hope you enjoy the new chapter. It's the shortest one so far I think so i'll try and make the next one slightly longer.

 **Chapter 4:** _One Step at a Time_

* * *

"…Checkmate." Avery gave Lestrange a lopsided grin, a smug expression taking over his face as he reached forward and used his piece to topple his opponent's King.

Lestrange stared in shock at the board for a moment before snarling at Avery, a faint sliver of malice tainting his tone "You only won because you cheated."

An eyebrow raised Avery merely smirked, unaffected by the hostility he'd come to know, _expect_ from Lestrange. "And pray tell me how I managed that."

"Don't think I didn't spot you and Tobias communicating with that… code or whatever it is you imbeciles were doing."

Avery cocked his head to the side, a defiant gleam in his eyes, "Prove it." He winked at Tobias Nott, uncaring of anyone who saw, before turning a self-satisfied smirk back at Lestrange.

Who, with a scowl, stood abruptly from his chair, "I'm retiring for the night."

Then, with surprising grace, Lestrange stormed up to the dorm, keeping his head held high as though feeling the need to retain whatever dignity he believed he owned.

Tom watched his… ' _friends' -_ an unimpressed expression on his face as he closed his book and leant forward slightly, catching Avery's eye.

"You seemed to have improved remarkably since you last played." His tone was light, but Avery could hear the challenge in his words.

He looked at Tom hesitantly, "Yes well, you did suggest I should brush up on my skills."

Tom raised an eyebrow, "It's useful yes, perhaps you would be up for another game?" His eyes flickered briefly to where Lestrange had sulked off to, "This time with a more… skilled opponent."

"Oh er… of course Tom," If Avery noticed the slight twitch in the other wizard's eye when he said his name then he pretended not to.

Smiling disarmingly Tom moved to sit opposite, waiting as Avery reluctantly reset the board, all the while flashing quick and not so subtle glances at Nott, who promptly decided to ignore the pleading look in Avery's eyes and appeared to become absorbed in his book.

Letting out a resigned sigh Avery grudgingly held out both hands, curled into fists around two pieces to determine who went first. Then the game began.

With narrowed eyes Riddle, at first, focused on the game. He soon found however, not that it was particularly surprising. that Avery's skills were just as lacking as always, and his mind began to wander.

As he had found them often doing since that night in the library, Tom's thoughts strayed to the strange teenager with wild hair and round spectacles who's countenance and appearance seemed to suggest they'd been in a battle, of some sort. Then again if he was to be believed when he stated that he was killed… then that could very well be the case. Maybe they were a victim of the war?

Tom furrowed his brow as he sacrificed a pawn, But then why would they end up at Hogwarts? He'd said he'd been a student here but _when?_ Racking his brain he couldn't remember any student matching his description - and the death would have undoubtedly been announced so perhaps he died a while ago?

Narrowing his eyes at the lack of answers Tom enjoyed the way Avery shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly thinking the look was directed at him. Avery could only wish that Tom found him half as interesting as this new ghost however. But if he _was_ a ghost… he hadn't appeared to be lying and Tom prided himself on his ability to read people, then why had Tom been able to pick up his snapped wand? More importantly why could he make contact with him? Add the fact that he lacked the trademark silverly, partially transparent appearance of all the ghosts Tom had come across.

And Tom couldn't lie to himself, the boy also just felt… odd.

He'd have to find him again and get some answers. Right now the apparent resident ghost was an anomaly… and while it was certainly an interesting one, Tom preferred it not remain that way.

 _Something different._ His mind whispered at him. _Something worth discovering._

A smirk curled up at his lips, it would be easy, he decided, to play this game and discover the truth. He had been getting bored anyway. Dark eyes finding Avery's Tom reached forward and knocked over the other's king.

"Checkmate."

* * *

Harry decided to start small.

After entering the library once more he found a leftover quill forgotten on a wooden desk and tried to see if he could gain any sensation of texture. Any clue that it was really there in front of him. Maybe Harry would have doubted where he was, that he was _truly_ there if Riddle hadn't been able to both see and touch him. If he hadn't been able to open the Chamber of Secrets with a word.

But he _was_ here. This was real.

Fingertips a hairs width away Harry closed his eyes, imagining the texture of soft feathers brushing against his skin…

A sudden noise distracted Harry who jolted, casting a confused glance around before his green eyes settled on a couple of teenagers who he had missed before, hidden as they were by bookcases and desks.

The boy had his lips latched onto the girls neck who's head was thrown back, her expression one of ecstasy. Harry blinked dumbly, unsure for a moment if he was actually seeing what he thought he was as the guy slipped his hand up the girl's skirt.

Suddenly he was hit with a wave of emotion. He didn't _feel_ the emotion itself per say, but he could sense it. Feel as energy seemed to flow from them to him and his hand involuntarily tightened into a fist. Just then there was a sharp _snap -_ and Harry jerked his head down to his hand, surprised to see the quill, now split in two, in his grip.

"What was that?" The girl had snapped her head in Harry's direction, not seeing him and Harry was too focused on the broken quill to pay her any attention.

"It's nothing Claudia, come on." The guy muttered, bringing her head down so their lips could meet once more and the odd noise was forgotten.

Forcefully opening and closing his eyes a few times, as though checking to make sure he'd _actually_ made physical contact with the feather, Harry's eyes lit up and he grinned. He'd done it! He wasn't sure how exactly but that hardly mattered to him right now. Right now he was just thrilled, thrilled as this would suggest all hope was not lost. That he wouldn't be stuck like this forever.

He almost didn't want to let go, didn't want to lose his touch on reality. But he forced himself to unclench his fist, watching as the two parts fell uselessly back on the table.

Sparing the couple fooling around one more glance Harry practically ran back to the bookshelf he'd been at the other night in the restricted section, before Riddle had interrupted him. Still running on his high Harry quickly scanned the shelves before focusing on the book he'd tried and failed to get before.

Without hesitation this time, as though afraid if he stopped enough to breath, to think, he would lose whatever had enabled him to make contact with inanimate objects in the first place, Harry grabbed for the tome…

And his hand went right through.

Pausing with his hand half way through the book Harry simply stared for a moment before slowly retracting his arm and dropping it loosely to his side as he seemed to plunge to the ground and shatter upon impact. Yet he was unwilling to acknowledge the fact that he'd failed once more. Not yet.

Instead he tried to remain numb as he retreated from the library, knowing that he should just continue trying but after crashing down so violently from the high he'd somehow got on Harry couldn't quite find the willpower.

He felt… drained.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Harry recognised the fact that this wasn't quite normal. That he shouldn't be feeling so _much…_ not like he decided to attribute that to him being thrust into a new, wholly unwelcome and utterly overwhelming situation. When had anything about his life been _normal_ after all?

Harry snorted a bitter laugh, didn't he deserve some normalcy after all he'd been through? His whole existence was one tedious trial after the other. He was surprised the stress hadn't ended his life before the killing curse had.

One thing he was certain of was that he couldn't just sit around doing nothing, that wasn't his style. There was still hope after all. Picking up the quill was proof of that - it was simply the first step. He'd just have to go one step at a time rather than rushing through…and he had nothing but time right now.

Maybe he could leave some kind of message for after he died? Make sure that it was there for Ron, Hermione… anyone really. But saying what? They knew what they had to do, even without him and Harry could only hope they succeeded.

Perhaps all he could do was focus on getting stronger. So that when the time came and his past self died, he'd be there to take up the position. Harry could't help but dread to years to come. He'd be here for _ages;_ he'd watch as students came and went, living their uneventful lives and he'd see-

Harry froze. He'd see his parents, Sirius. Almost choking on the sudden emotion that threatened to overcome him Harry briefly wondered how he was going to remain sane. Maybe he was thinking too dark, too pessimistically. His focus should be on getting back, mainly because he wasn't sure he could suffer the long road. And when did he become such a pessimist anyway?

As long as Voldemort was stopped. That's all that mattered.

* * *

Later that evening Tom cornered Abraxas Malfoy who quickly cast his eyes around before nodding his head in a gesture of respect. "My Lord." He murmured lowly.

Midnight orbs glinted in slight satisfaction, revelling in the simple action for a moment before getting down to business. "I need you to do something for me." Tom drawled lazily, eyes intent on the other's face.

"As always, you need only ask." Malfoy replied, keeping his tone neutral as he met Tom's gaze.

"I want a list Hogwarts students who died between-" Tom briefly considered, "-16 and 19 years old." He finished, observing Malfoy's reaction idly.

Abraxas raised an eyebrow, eyes glinting curiously but resisting asking why, "Any particular time range?" He asked instead.

Tom stared at him for an extra long moment before responding, relishing in the way the pureblood's eyes flickered around slightly, as though afraid to meet Tom's eyes for too long. This was what he wanted. Fear. Respect. What he'd always wanted - what he'd _earned:_ it hadn't fallen at his feet, hadn't been delivered on a silver spoon, he'd _worked_ for it. "Since the start."

Scratching his chin Abraxas considered his request, "I'm not sure how far back the records will go." He admitted and Tom narrowed his eyes though he'd suspected as much.

"Then as far back as you can find." He said, a slight sneer in his voice and Abraxas shifted his gaze away for a moment.

"I will do what I can." He replied subdued, inclining his head and Tom gave a short nod, satisfied. Malfoy's could be extremely useful and resourceful when they needed to be after all. That was partly why he tolerated Abraxas as much as he did.

Now all he had to do was wait.

Leaving Malfoy to write whatever letter he thought was best suited for the task, Tom decided to seek out the odd ghost. Maybe if he had a name, even just a given name, this would go a lot smoother.

Not that Tom wouldn't mind a challenge if one were to present itself of course.

* * *

Harry willed himself not to get his hopes up as he walked back and forth.

 _'I need a room that I can interact with.'_

After the third time of pacing in front of the Room of Requirement Harry glanced hopefully at the wall opposite before deflating. There was nothing. Why was there nothing? Was it simply because the room could not offer what he wanted?

Suddenly frustrated Harry scowled at the wall and began marching down the corridor, the urge to hit something strong. It had been a long shot anyway, he forced himself to acknowledge that fact.

He hadn't gotten very far however before a familiar figure appeared in his view and Harry paused, staring unabashedly at Riddle.

"Are you stalking me or something?" Harry spat, his previous irritation leaking into his voice, unmoving whilst Riddle eventually stopped before him, "I'm flattered, really, but i'm sure you have better things to do with your time." _Like plan world domination._

Riddle tilted his head slightly to the side as his eyes scanned Harry attentively, taking everything in and Harry wondered what he saw. "I could ask you the same thing."

Rolling his eyes Harry cast a fleeting look to the side as two teenage girls walked past, shooting Riddle odd glances as they did so before dissolving into hushed whispers and Harry couldn't help the smirk that took over his face.

Riddle had no clue how crazy he must look right now, talking to thin air. A laugh escaped his lips before he could stop it and Tom frowned slightly, giving Harry a bemused look.

"What?"

Struggling to control his grin Harry shook his head, "Oh - nothing." He hoped the girls would gossip. That it would get around just how bloody _insane_ Tom Riddle was. Somehow he doubted it.

Staring at Harry for a few moment longer, Riddle seemed to brush off his odd behaviour and offered him a hand, "I don't believe we've had the pleasure of being introduced." He said lightly, a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

The hand hovered between them for a tense moment, Harry peering at it as though Riddle had spit into his palm. He wasn't going to shake it, he really wasn't, but then he happened to catch the other boy's gaze as he paused. It was like Riddle was _challenging_ him, his eyes dark and knowing and so, straightening his spine, Harry grit his teeth and took the offered hand. Because he wasn't a coward, because he refused to back down and wanted the other boy to know that.

"Tom Riddle."

Those two words seemed to cement Harry's situation all at once and his hand tightened around Riddle's painfully as everything firmly sunk in. Riddle didn't know who he was. Didn't know who he was to him, who he would _be._

"Harry Potter." He kept his eyes locked onto Riddle's. There was no glint of recognition, Riddle was not familiar with him, not yet. He didn't yet know that Harry Potter was the name he'd spend endless nights obsessing over, the person who'd ultimately destroy him.

 _But he would._

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading**


	5. Priorities Change When You're dead

**A/N:** It's been a while hasn't it. I just suddenly got in the mood and got some writing done, really sorry about the slow updates - it really just depends on my motivational levels. This is a hobby after all and the moment writing starts becoming a chore I stop and take a break. Soooo… inconsistent updates it it!

Hope anyone still reading enjoys the chapter!

 **Chapter 5:** _Priorities Change When You're dead_

It took all of a second for Harry to question if he'd made a mistake by saying his true name. Would such a simple action alter the future? Or perhaps this was what was always supposed to happen - had _already_ happened. Whatever the case, it was too late to take back his words now.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance." Riddle said, a friendly front, lips dripping with honey. Harry didn't know how he did it. He himself had always worn his heart on his sleeve, and he was beginning to wonder just how dangerous that might be.

"I'm sure." Harry responded, pulling his hand back quickly before letting it drop awkwardly by his side, trying his hardest to ignore the part of him that wanted nothing more than to scrub his hand raw - as though afraid he had somehow been tainted by Riddle's touch.

"Potter…" Riddle repeated slowly, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully, "You wouldn't happen to related to Fleamont Potter would you?" He asked, eyes flickering over all of Harry's features, no doubt taking in the resemblance that was probably hard to miss… under all the grime.

"I er-" Harry internally winced at his stutter, "Maybe, are they a student?" He tried nonchalantly, giving a vague half shrug whilst avoiding the piercing gaze trained on him.

"You've never heard of him?" Tom probed, no doubt noticing Harry's hesitation.

With a frown Harry forced himself to meet Riddle's gaze before answering carefully, "I don't know them no." He said slowly, because he _didn't_ know Fleamont, not personally, and twisting the truth seemed easier than outright lying. In any case, his answer seemed to be accepted.

"It's interesting, don't you think?" Tom eventually said casually, after a moment of the two scrutinising each other under sharp eyes, neither entirely sure what to make of the other.

"What is?"

A brief smirk appeared on Riddle's lips before disappearing, and Harry found himself watching the other wizard's face attentively, especially his eyes, the eyes were what often held the truth after all. "You of course. You claim to be dead and yet your entire existence goes against everything wizards have studied on ghosts."

Harry shrugged, trying not to let show just how uncomfortable he felt with the topic, "I know I died, what else is there?" Of course he conveniently failed to mention the whole time travel situation.

Titling his head Tom studied him, a slight frown creasing between his eyebrows, "Whatever the case, you're existence is… unusual, as I'm sure you're aware of course."

Curiosity.

That was the main emotion Harry could make out in Riddle's midnight orbs. However Harry couldn't help but question his judgement. _Was_ it just curiosity? Was it even curiosity or was that just what Riddle wanted him to see? Harry couldn't be sure, couldn't know if he was merely falling victim to the future Dark Lord's manipulations just as everyone else had.

Taking Harry's silence as an affirmative Tom smiled slightly, the corner of his lips turning upwards in an almost hungry expression. "Of course you are. And are you not… _curious,_ about your situation?"

"Why do you care?"

Arching an eyebrow at the almost offensive tone Harry had taken on, Riddle gave a dignified shrug, "Is it not normal for someone to want to understand the world around them? The _why_ is what drives people to greater knowledge, and therefore power, after all."

 _Knowledge is power._ Now why did that sound so familiar to Harry.

"So I'm just one giant science experiment is what you're saying." Harry scoffed, though he would admit he _was_ curious. He wanted to understand… he just didn't want Riddle's help in doing so.

"Oh I wouldn't say _giant_." Riddle smirked, eyeing Harry with amusement. "But the fact remains that you are an anomaly - it would be only natural for you to desire understanding."

Harry stared openly at Riddle for a second, unsure how to respond before running a hand through his already messy hair. "Well perhaps everyone isn't as power hungry as you seem to be." He challenged before forcing himself to hold his tongue. There was too much he wanted to say, too much that could slip out if he wasn't careful.

Riddle however just gave him a look, "When did you die?"

Blinking at the sudden question Harry crossed his arms defensively over his chest, "Didn't you know it's rude to ask a ghost about their death." He said bluntly - Whether it actually was or not Harry couldn't say, but it _seemed_ like it would be.

"But _are_ you a ghost?" Riddle immediately jumped upon his wording, "Ghosts are but mere imprints of a soul. They should not have colour. They should not be able to _touch._ Nor look as solid as you do and…" Riddle abruptly withdrew his wand much to Harry's alarm, " _Lumos_."

The tip of his wand lit up and Harry relaxed his muscles that had quickly become tense, eyeing the other wizard warily.

Riddle watched him for a second as though waiting for something. When Harry did nothing more than appear to become slightly uncomfortable he gave a triumphant smirk, "…and they are repelled by the wand-lighting charm."

Letting that sink in for a second the dark wizard took a step closer, "You, Harry Potter, are _not_ a ghost." Riddle looked him dead in the eye, an accusation almost heard in his voice.

Harry did not like the way Riddle was looking at him. As though he was a puzzle waiting to be solved, a bug under a microscope - and Harry decided that he would _not_ be telling Riddle about the fact only he could see him as that would undoubtedly make Tom more interested in him than he already apparently was.

It _couldn't_ come out that he was from the future. There was no telling what the consequence of that might be.

Letting out a sigh Harry looked at Riddle, a vague expression of despair on his face, "You just have to figure everything out don't you?" He blurted. Shaking his head Harry found words falling out his mouth before he could stop them, "You have to be in _control_. Just _stop."_

With that final word Harry poured all his emotions in. Because he wanted Riddle to stop so much even if the version in front of him didn't and couldn't understand. Stop murdering innocent people, stop his endless quest for immortality and power, stop chasing after _him._ And if possible to just _stop breathing._

Harry glared heatedly at Riddle who gazed right back in slight surprise.

"Do I know you?" Tom asked, because there had been something so familiar about the way Harry had been speaking to him. As though he _knew_ him and Tom had somehow personally offended him.

 _Crap._ Harry bit his tongue forcefully, begging his mouth to just _shut up._

"No." Harry ground out, and it wasn't exactly a lie - this Tom _didn't_ know him.

Riddle narrowed his eyes, suspicion now leaking into them and Harry silently cursed himself. Riddle was already curious about him, the last thing Harry wanted was suspicion, even if it _was_ warranted, added on top of that.

"Don't you have, I don't know something _else_ to be doing?" Harry finally said after a moment of tense silence.

Adopting his smile once more and seemingly willing to brush off Harry's odd behaviour, though Harry doubted he'd forget it, Riddle gave an unconcerned shrug. "It's a Saturday." He said smoothly, as though that explained everything. His eyes were still trained on Harry leaving him to wonder if Riddle had ever _not_ been staring at him throughout this whole conversation…

…Harry couldn't believe he was having an almost _civil_ conversation with Tom Riddle.

Narrowing his eyes Harry straightened, "Well you may not have better things to be doing with your time, _Tom,_ but I do." Flashing an entirely fake and over the top grin Harry went against against every instinct in his body: he spun on his heel and stalked away, turning his back on his enemy and pretending not to feel Riddle's eyes on him as he did so.

Harry was sure he'd never despised someone so much…

So why did he feel a strange sense of something being taken from him as he walked away?

* * *

As he walked past several gaping windows in the castle walls Harry couldn't help but peer out them, gazing at the students as they milled about, enjoying the odd day of sunshine before Winter fully struck. Harry guessed it was early in the school year, though part of him wished it was the opposite; that Riddle would be graduating soon and he'd never have to see his non-Voldemort looking face again.

Pausing at one window Harry gazed out into a world he felt strangely disconnected from, reality slipping through his fingers no matter how hard he tried to grasp onto it. He didn't want to believe he was useless, he couldn't. Reaching out a hand he gently rested it against the stone wall near the window, forehead scrunching in concentration as he tried to remember what it _should_ feel like.

There was something there, a texture beneath his palm that felt less like stone and more like water, but even as that thought crossed his mind his fingertips seemed to brush past the barrier and vanish into the wall. With a soft sigh Harry let his arm drop back to his side.

 _What was happening with him?_

* * *

Hours turned into days, the sun set and rose, light and darkness blurring together until Harry was no longer sure how much time had passed. A week? Maybe two? All he knew was that it wasn't getting any easier - not like he'd, perhaps naively, hoped it would. If anything it was getting more and more disheartening, the future more daunting with each passing second as he failed to come up with a plan, failed to touch reality.

He'd discovered that he _could_ sleep, he just didn't need to. In fact, he'd be hesitant to call it sleep, more like falling into an existence that swallowed his consciousness almost completely, left him floating in darkness without dreams, without thoughts and yet still somehow _aware_. But in that way… it was the perfect escape. It just never lasted as long as he would've liked.

All at once there seemed to be a rush of students, noise filling the previously silent corridor and, slightly curious as to what had everyone so excited, Harry followed.

Carefully trailing behind the group of students (Harry still wasn't used to people just casually walking through him) led him out to the Quidditch pitch and Harry felt an involuntary grin light up his face. Here was something he could enjoy. Here he didn't need to interact with anyone or anything, he could stand and watch just like everyone else.

Joining the mass of people Harry simply walked right through; straight to the front with a smirk as he was able to ignore the huddled groups with ease, even if it felt odd doing so. It would completely suck, after all, if there were _no_ benefits to his current state.

Soon the match began, Slytherin vs Gryffindor and Harry found himself cheering along with his old house, transfixed as the players swerved and dived, granted it was nowhere near exciting as the matches in _his_ time (It's hard to beat near death experiences after all) but it was the best entertainment Harry had had since he'd arrived here.

The atmosphere was practically shimmering with emotions: joy, excitement, disappointment, anger… Harry could feel them all. They surrounded him, rushed through him leaving a tingling heat in their wake. He felt euphoric, overwhelmed… and suddenly it was just _too_ much, causing him to stumble slightly from the force of it all. Instinct took over and he put his hands out in-front of him, a brief moment of panic flashing through him as he thought he was going to plunge a few dozen feet to the ground - only to fall _into_ the barrier surrounding the centre of the pitch. Abruptly everything around him seemed to fade into the background as Harry slowly wrapped his hands around the barrier and _feels_ the cool metal beneath his palms, just like it should be.

A grin splits open his face as he puts the pieces together. The quill in the library, the candles in the Great Hall, right now… it was all to do with emotions _, other peoples_ emotions. In the Hall it hadn't been _his_ emotions that caused the candles to flicker, it was him drawing off of everyone else's.

It was the only explanation he could think of, and he was thrilled to have an explanation at all if he was honest though the implications of it… Shrugging slightly Harry turned somewhat to observe the students around him. No one was openly staring at him, there were no expressions of disbelief or 'did that boy just appear out of nowhere' looks and yet… _there_. One of the students slightly back from him was grinning and watching the match along with everyone else, but their gaze kept sliding away from the game and catching onto the space Harry was currently occupying, a brief frown forming between their eyebrows as they did so.

Narrowing his eyes experimentally Harry cocked his head marginally to the side and brought one of his hands up slowly. Then, staring intently at the student, he tried a small wave, wriggling his fingers and watching in excitement as their eyes appeared to follow the movement… even if they clearly didn't know what it was they were looking at.

Progress. This was progress.

* * *

Much to his disappointment Slytherin won the match, 210 - 120 and Harry waited for everyone else to have gone before making his exit, revelling in the chaos of residue emotions still lingering in the air. He inhaled, feeling slightly more _real,_ slightly more human and eventually reentered the castle.

His whole being seemed to tingle with energy, strength flowed through him and rejuvenated his core and Harry felt the urge to just _do something._ Something to release all this pent up energy he now had… and he had just the idea of what.

Feeling one step away from actually skipping, Harry made his way through the stone corridors, resisting the urge to hum because well, he didn't _hum._

"Someone's looking awfully cheery." Even the sight of Tom Riddle standing in his path didn't damper his mood… much.

"Well it has been a while since we last spoke, really gets ones spirit up." Harry said cheerfully before ignoring Riddle in favour of walking past him and continuing onto his goal.

He didn't know if it'd been a foolish hope to think Riddle would leave it at that, but the dark-lord-to-be was suddenly walking casually beside Harry, his long legs easily keeping up without looking like he was _actually_ keeping up with Harry.

"I'm offended," Riddle said, his face completely impassive, "I've been told I'm stimulating company."

Harry couldn't help the snort that escaped him, was Riddle _joking._ "Who by, your mother?"

From the corner of his eye Harry caught the slight tightening of the other's jaw but couldn't bring himself to regret his words. So what if he brought up Riddle's dead mother… in a few decades he'd _murder_ Harry's parents.

"Surprisingly enough no," Tom said calmly and Harry had to give him some credit for still managing to sound friendly, "But you never really gave me an answer, why do you look like a kitten that's been left alone a yarn shop?"

Briefly wondering if he's meant to be insulted by being referred to as a kitten Harry shrugs, "Quidditch." Is all he offers by way of explanation and Riddle raises an eyebrow.

"You support Slytherin then?"

"I- What? No!" Harry momentarily pauses in his footsteps before carrying on.

"Well Slytherin did win the match, or so I've heard. Does that mean you weren't a Slytherin during your time here?"

It dawns on Harry then that Riddle was trying to discover more about his past, and suddenly it occurs to him that maybe saying he once went to school at Hogwarts wasn't the wisest decision he could've made. He knew Riddle wouldn't find anything on him if he was looking, but that was precisely why it might be dangerous.

"Actually I don't support any house." Harry says, wracking his brain for a way to get out of the mess he got himself into.

Riddle frowns slightly, "I would've thought you'd support your own house, pretty much all students who care for the game do."

In response Harry merely gives a shrug, "I guess priorities change when you're dead."

After a few more minutes of walking they finally arrive at the library and Harry turns to Riddle, finding that his mood has dropped considerably in the time it took to get here and worried he might no longer be able to do what he came to do.

"Well this is my stop." He says brightly, hoping the other boy would get the hint and leave.

"How convenient, I was actually heading here myself." There's a vaguely smug expression on Riddle's face and Harry dearly wants to smack it off, both well aware he was lying. Tom had been walking in the other direction when they met after all.

Dark eyes catch his, amusement flashing through them as they take in Harry's annoyance but Harry gets the message. Hint received and ignored.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading


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